Seasons Change
by occhi bella
Summary: Oneshots written for the fic variations July challenge on IJ and LJ, for the prompt: four seasons.
1. Brief Encounter

**Title: **Brief Encounter**  
Author:** occhi bella  
**Fandom:** Sleepy Hollow (movie)  
**Character/Pairing:** Ichabod/Katrina  
**Rating:** T  
**Prompt/Claim:** the four seasons, fic 1  
**Word Count:** 785  
**Spoilers:** Yes  
**Disclaimer:** Sleepy Hollow and its characters do not belong to me.

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Fall would always be his favorite season, for it was during that season that he'd met his one and only love, and the missing part of himself.

He'd arrived in the village of Sleepy Hollow in November, sent to investigate a series of macabre and grisly murders that had occurred there. It had been many years since he'd been out of the city and in a backward country town such as the one where he'd grown up. He dreaded that nearly as much as the gory nature of the killings he would be investigating; but he was determined to prove himself. His superiors had sent him there, more likely to be rid of him than to put him to any test as they had claimed. No one was interested in the reforms to the justice system that he advocated, nor did they put any stock in his 'experimentations', as they so politely called the scientific methods of detection that he favored. This was his one chance to prove the value of those ideas and methods.

More than the crisp chill of autumn made Ichabod Crane shiver as he stood in the center of the main street that ran through the tiny hamlet. The town was strangely empty and eerily silent. Faces appeared in second story windows of houses, peering at him for only fleeting moments before windows were promptly sealed shut, curtains drawn. This was a grim place, shrouded in darkness and gloom, that did not welcome strangers. Already he could not wait to accomplish his task and leave, and he set off for the large house at the edge of town purposefully.

Dry, brittle leaves scraped against the ground as the wind swept them along, lifting and swirling them. The fall harvest was over and the brown fields were barren and dried as far as the eye could see. Pumpkins with carved faces and candles shining fiercely from inside lighted the way along the curved, sloping road that led to the home of Baltus Van Tassel, the town elder that Ichabod had been ordered to report to upon his arrival.

Darkness and gloom were left behind as he stepped into the Van Tassel home and found himself in the midst of a warm, bright room where a festive party was in progress. Moving through it uncomfortably, his stomach in knots and his hands trembling, he kept to the outskirts of the merry crowd, not wishing to be noticed. He was never comfortable in social gatherings such as this one.

Suddenly small warm hands caught his cheeks and he stiffened as he found himself in the grasp of a young woman wearing a blindfold and lamentably the center of attention and whatever game she was playing. A sweet, rich voice asked him if he was Theodore. He blushed and managed to stammer that he was only a stranger.

"Then have a kiss on account."

Soft, sweet lips pressed against his cheek and the floral scent of her hair wafting into his nostrils as it swept his face intoxicated him. The material of her dress brushed against his legs and his torso and his skin flushed warm underneath his clothing. Scent and feeling and texture conspired to rob him of his wits. And when she stepped back after giving him the kiss on account and removed her blindfold, his jaw dropped open as he found himself staring at the most startling big brown eyes he'd ever seen and a lovely face framed by long blonde curls that cascaded down around her shoulders. He was dazzled by her.

The playful gleam in her eyes softened into an expression of kindness and understanding as she regarded him, taking him aback somewhat. But somehow he finally managed to speak, unable to utter more than that he was looking for Baltus Van Tassel. And discovered that this girl was his daughter, Katrina.

_Katrina. Katrina Van Tassel._

Lost in wistful daydreams when he was alone, he absentmindedly wrote her name over and over in his ledger in the days to follow, and drew sketches of her with and without the blindfold. Often he would scold himself, aware that his dreams were in vain. But he couldn't help himself. He could still feel the warmth of her hands as they cupped his cheeks, the touch of her lips when she gave him the kiss on account. The more time he spent with her and the more he discovered about her, the more certain he was that she belonged by his side forever, as his wife. She even shared his love of cardinals.

No, he'd been done for at the start, with that first brief encounter and that sweetest of all kisses.


	2. In Dreams

**Title: **In Dreams**  
Author:** occhi bella  
**Fandom:** Sleepy Hollow (movie)  
**Character/Pairing:** Ichabod/Katrina  
**Rating:** T  
**Prompt/Claim:** the four seasons, fic 2  
**Word Count:** 1059  
**Spoilers:** Yes  
**Disclaimer:** Sleepy Hollow and its characters do not belong to me.

* * *

His dreams always began with a lovely summer day. 

_Ichabod. Ichabod._

Her voice repeated his name in a gentle, affectionate half-song. A memory of Lady Crane wearing a blindfold, engaged in the same game that Katrina Van Tassel had been playing that first evening when he arrived in Sleepy Hollow. The sun beamed down on her as she slowly turned in a circle on the grass in the small front yard of their home, her arms outstretched to catch young Ichabod the moment he approached her with a small bouquet of purple-blue flowers clasped in his hand. Flowering trees surrounded the grassy yard that she danced in and the soft breeze stirred the pink and white blossoms, prying them loose from their branches and swirling them around her as she spun about.

Beautiful warm brown eyes gazed lovingly upon him when she removed her blindfold, so different yet so very much like Katrina's. He handed his mother the flowers he'd picked and she smiled, clutching them close to her heart.

She beckoned him inside and he followed, watching as she tossed the purple-blue flowers into the flames that crackled in the hearth then took up a thin branch and drew symbols in the ash, chanting her blessings softly and rhythmically over the fire.

Another memory of her blowing the filaments off the head of a dandelion that she held. The wispy puffs of white floated around her and she began to spin amidst them, twirling faster and faster until she was lifted off the ground. He lay on his back in the grass, warmed by the sun, watching his mother as she stretched and danced in mid-air.

But the idyllic images that his dreams began with always inevitably faded, replaced by shadows and disturbing images that continued to haunt him. A memory of huddling under the covers in his bed, terrified by the sounds of thunderstorms and the flashes of lightning, his mother sitting beside him on the edge of the bed, rubbing his stomach comfortingly. She would draw out his favorite toy, the thaumatrope with the cardinal and the cage and spin it before his eyes. He would stare at the circular pendant in wide-eyed amazement as the cardinal seemed to fly freely while appearing inside the cage at the same time; a trick of optics, as he'd come to learn as a grown-up. Two separate pictures on either side of the disk that appeared to be one when it was spun.

Still darker visions plagued his nightmares. His father's face, rigid and stern, suspicious and angry, accentuated by the black clothing that cloaked him from head to toe and sharply contrasted his pale complexion. A memory of watching him seize his mother roughly, pull her along and shove her down before the hearth, pointing accusingly into the ground before it where she drew her pictures and charms. Throwing a bible onto the ground and forcing her to read it. Yanking her back on her feet again and dragging her away. The sight of a vivid red door standing out among the stark white chapel of Reverend Crane's church. Images of a large metal case in the shape of a person's body, the head eerily resembling a woman's face. An open slat where eyes would be and familiar warm brown eyes peering through it. He always woke with a start at these sights, sweating and shaken up, struggling to catch his breath.

On this night, though, there was no warm sunny day in his visions, no comforting images of his beautiful mother. This dream began in his father's severe white church. Ichabod remained crouched in one of the pews, watching as Reverend Crane dragged his mother down the aisle of the church toward that bright red door that always filled him with terror. The preacher reappeared, alone now, walking somberly through the aisle, leaving the red door behind and exiting the church.

Young Ichabod crept through that red door, finding himself in a room full of odd, frightening-looking contraptions whose purpose he could not fathom.

_Ichabod. Ichabod._

Her voice echoed softly as he stood before the large metal case with the woman's visage. An iron maiden. Brown eyes stared at him through the open slat and he stumbled back startled, his hands instinctively reaching back to grasp the chair behind him, to brace himself from falling. Pain seared through his palms as they made contact with the chair, which was covered in steel spikes. He whipped them away and brought them together in front of him, staring in horror at the rows of evenly placed holes that bled freely. The door to the iron maiden swung open and his mother's body fell forward, rivulets of blood streaming down her face. She seemed to be surrounded by a river of blood.

He cried out as he woke from this nightmare and bolted upright – and into her arms.

The realization that Katrina had been sitting beside him, keeping vigil, and that he was now nestled in her embrace was almost as shocking as the horror of the memory. Reverend Crane had killed his wife, Ichabod's mother. A deeply religious man, the reverend was suspicious of Lady Crane's deep connection with nature, her charms and drawings that appeared magical and enigmatic. He'd murdered her because he believed he would save her soul.

Ichabod rested his chin on Katrina's shoulder, his cheek pressed against soft golden curls, and stared at his hands. Bloody dots covered his palms now where before there had been colorless imprints. Oddly, these scars that had been there ever since he could remember were bleeding for the first time since that day in the room full of spiked chairs and iron maidens.

"You were dreaming," Katrina murmured, stroking his back comfortingly.

"Ah, yes," he sighed, slowly relaxing. "Of things I had long forgotten. And don't wish to remember."

"Tell me what you dreamt," she coaxed gently.

The sound of her voice, the feel of her arms around him and the kindness she exuded soothed him and he felt the barriers that he'd built up between himself and the rest of the world for so long dissolve. Without a second thought, he told her of his mother's murder and the loss of his faith, baring his soul for her to see and allowing her sweet presence to lift the sting.


	3. Coming Home

**Title:** Coming Home  
**Author:** occhi bella  
**Fandom:** Sleepy Hollow (movie)  
**Character/Pairing:** Ichabod/Katrina  
**Rating:** T  
**Prompt/Claim:** the four seasons, fic 3  
**Word Count:** 1067  
**Spoilers:** Yes  
**Disclaimer:** Sleepy Hollow and its characters do not belong to me.

_

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_

_Soft warm lips upon his cheek tenderly woke Ichabod from his slumber and his eyes fluttered open. Content and relaxed with Katrina by his side he'd slept peacefully during most of the journey home. He raised his head and glanced through the coach window at his surroundings, pleased to see that they had arrived back in New York in time for winter and just before the dawning of a new century. A better life lay ahead, one in which he could wake every morning to such a sweet kiss upon his cheek, from now on._

_He could scarcely realize it._

_Snow flurries drifted down slowly and a thin layer of white already covered the ground and the rooftops of the buildings around them as they alighted from the coach. Despite the winter chill, Ichabod felt warm inside. His sleep was less troubled and despite his frailties and fears, he knew that he could be brave with Katrina by his side. There was pride and confidence in his step as he walked toward home with his beautiful new wife on his arm and a wide-eyed Young Masbath trailing behind with their bags._

_The boy had been a loyal assistant to him while he worked in Sleepy Hollow. Until that moment Ichabod had imagined that he would remain single for his entire lifetime. He'd left New York a bachelor, living a sparse and introverted life in solitude. Yet here he was, barely six weeks later, returning with the loveliest young woman he'd ever known as his wife and young Peter Masbath, who would now be their ward. He could hardly believe it._

"Ichabod? Ichabod?"

Katrina's voice punctuated the darkness surrounding him and the dream of the past faded. Ichabod's eyes fluttered open and he woke with a start. His mind was clouded over with confusion for a moment as he noted that he was lying on his back on the floor and his wife was kneeling beside him, gazing down at him with concerned eyes and shaking his shoulder. He sighed, realizing instantly that he'd fainted.

"Are you alright, my love?"

"Oh…yes," he murmured vaguely. She supported him as he struggled to sit up. He shook his head to clear it, then focused on her again, gazing at her in wonderment. "Katrina. You…did I…you're with child?" he finally stammered.

She leaned in and kissed his cheek softly. "Yes. You're going to be a father, Ichabod Crane."

Still scarcely able to wrap his mind around the news, he dazedly stood up and allowed himself to be led by the arm to the couch. They sat down side by side and she snuggled against him. He took her hand absentmindedly, linking his other arm around her waist and trying to focus by doing the calculations in his head.

_Seven weeks along, the doctor had guessed. It was mid-December now, which meant the baby was going to be born around early to mid August._

"I'm due in early August," she spoke up as if she'd read his thoughts. She sighed and added with a wry chuckle, "This summer is probably going to be miserable. With any luck it won't be too hot. And I'll carry small the way my mother did."

Ichabod nodded absently, staring across the room through the window, at the falling snow. His thoughts were drifting off in all directions and he was at a loss for words, his emotions a jumble of awe, bliss and trepidation. It was only a year ago that he had brought Katrina home to New York as his wife, after solving the murders and ridding Sleepy Hollow of the headless horseman. Just last winter. It was snowing then, too. He'd dreamt of that homecoming only moments before, when he was unconscious.

Together they had created a contented and fulfilling life for themselves and young Peter was like a son to them. Now, almost a year to the day later, he had the wonderful news that he and Katrina were going to have a child of their own. His stomach tightened into knots as doubt gnawed at him. What if he wasn't a good father? He'd hated his own father, who had always behaved as a rigid and cruel tyrant. What if he began to act like Reverend Crane with his own child?

"Ichabod?"

Ichabod blinked, drawn out of his reverie by the sound of his wife's gentle voice, and turned his gaze back to her. She was regarding him questioningly.

"Oh." He smiled lightly and shook his head. "I'm sorry, my love."

He released her hand and reached up to stroke her face lovingly.

"What is it, dearest?" he asked, now noticing the expression of worry in her eyes.

She averted her eyes. "You look disturbed…you're not disappointed are you?"

"What?" Ichabod gaped at her in shock for a long moment before rushing to embrace her passionately, beside himself. "Oh my God, Katrina, of course not! How on earth could you believe that I would be disappointed at such news?"

"You seem so distant. I thought you would be happy when I told you..."

"Oh, Katrina, I am! It's wonderful! Our first child…I'm just overwhelmed, that's all."

Her arms tightened around his waist and he realized in that moment that he hadn't yet kissed her since she'd given him the news, so stunned had he been by it. He leaned down and pressed his mouth against hers firmly, parting her lips with his own and kissing her long and deep. Then they leaned against one another, their faces a mere inch apart, both catching their breath.

"I hope I will be a good father," he mused quietly after a long pause. "What if I…?"

But she pressed her lips softly against his, cutting off his words with another kiss.

"You're going to be a wonderful father," she reassured him. "You've been like a father to Peter all year long, and a good one. I'm certain that you're up to this challenge, Constable Crane. The same way you've bravely faced every other challenge."

"I love you," he whispered, closing his eyes and kissing her softly again.

For the rest of the evening they cuddled together on the couch, his head leaning on hers, and gazed out of the window at the falling snow, alternately nuzzling one another lovingly and speaking in quiet, intimate tones, planning for the promising future that lay ahead of them.


End file.
